350 MEN I HAVE FISHED WITH. 



"Woodcock! What's them? Them air big wood- 

 pickers 'at drums on trees fur grub? Why, they ain't 

 good to eat, an' it takes as much powder an' lead to kill 

 one on 'em as it does to kill a buffler that weighs over a 

 quarter of a ton. Wai, that's all right; you can shoot 

 woodpickers ef you like, but when I shoot I want to see 

 something worth shooting at." 



I hadn't the courage to explain what a woodcock was ; 

 it wouldn't have helped the matter in the least, nor the 

 disposition to argue the case of sport versus meat; that 

 would have been equally hopeless. So I said: "Won't 

 the wolves spoil the skins and the meat to-night before 

 we can save both in the morning?" 



"Yes, some on 'em," said he; "but it's the best we 

 could do, an' if we're short we'll kill some more. We 

 allers kill enough for ourselves an' the wolves, too; 

 there's plenty of 'em." 



After Amos left us Warren said: "Betcher didn't kill 

 any more buffler 'an I did. Honest, now, how many?" 



"One." 



"Is that all? Why, what joo do all day? Betcher I 

 killed half a dozen, and put my mark on a lot more; I 

 come out here for fun, I did, an' now the gang's goin' 

 back as soon as they skin an' load up the meat." 



There was no use in talking to this man. I began to 

 feel myself out of touch with the rest, holding opinions 

 which I did not care to expose to ridicule by expressing 

 them, so I turned the talk in another direction. We 

 could hear the wolves howl and fight as long as we heard 

 anything, and when silence came morning came with it. 



Camp was broken, and the oxen were hitched up and 

 the wagons scattered to do their work. Guards and all 

 hands went to the labor of skinning, and from inquiry 

 afterward I learned that nearly one hundred buffaloes 



